Theorization about Arthas' last moments in a short story
by Lerquiy
Summary: After the defeat of the Lich King, Arthas Menethil becomes his old self again for the last few moments before his death. His life flashes before him and he realizes how much he regrets his actions and that the boy he wants was was always there, fighting against a dormant Ner'zhul and the soulless version of himself. He knows that there must always be a Lich King.


It was supposed to be impossible, yet it was still happening. The Lich King's plan was perfect, he lured many of the heroes of Azeroth to his throne, along with the hated Tirion Fordring and defeated all of them. Fordring was supposed to be bound in ice. The Lich King wished for him to watch his champions die before making him one of the Scourge. He planned everything and executed his plans perfectly… but he still failed. The Light was too strong. Tirion leapt at him and struck with the Ashbringer, shattering Frostmourne into pieces.  
„Impossible!" he screamed as he fell to the ground. Frostmourne fell from his grip as he hit the cold, hard floor of Icecrown Citadel… cold. He did not feel cold since… the Helm of Dominion fell from the Lich King's… no, Arthas Menethil's head. What has he done?  
Arthas suddenly saw everything go down in a flash. Invincible's death, his acceptance into the paladin order, his first night with Jaina… Jaina. She hated him.  
The Culling of Stratholme.  
„I'm sorry Arthas. I can't watch you do this." she said.  
„There's got to be another way!" Uther was right. Had to be right. And yet he died for it. „I hope there's a special place in hell waiting for you Arthas." Arthas felt another chill run down his spine. His hands gripping Frostmourne. At the time it felt so right, to sacrifice everything so that his people would be safe from the plague. What a mess he made of it all… he saw himself strike down Mal'Ganis, then his father and the paladins… and Uther. Uther. His teacher. His friend. He felt so powerful, wielding that cursed runeblade into battle against the high elves and the mages of the Kirin Tor. Deep down, he knew it wasn't right, that he had to back away, but the whispers of the Lich King, of Ner'zhul drowned out that small part of his being that was still sane. That was still  
Now, that part emerged again as the Helm of Dominion rolled away on the cold ground. So cold… the whispers of the Lich King sounded so true, so real. He listened to them, and obeyed. Listened even when he was ordered to take up the helm and merge with the entity that was once called Ner'zhul, an orcish shaman. Arthas saw his memories too. How he was tricked by the Burning Legion and then captured by the Deciever and sent to Azeroth to weaken it for the invasion. He was successful but he owned no loyalties to the Legion or its masters. They were wise and knew he had to be kept in check. The nathrezim were easy to keep in the dark and with the young death knight's body he would be able to be whole again. Yet Arthas was stronger, and took control. Or so the former paladin thought. In truth, Ner'zhul was there all along, guiding his hand in the atrocities he has commited over the years. He worked in the shadows, unseen as always. Arthas remembered his last encounter with Jaina… he almost slew her. By the Light, he hoped she was able to get / Finally that Light forsaken helm stopped, and without its clanking sound, the memories were gone as well. Arthas saw the souls of all he slew - because it was him that slew them, he held no illusion of not being responsible - hover above, while one broke away and took on a form familiar to it. It was his form while he lived and Arthas knew he preferred it. He materialized once before, just before the assault. Terenas went down on one knee and lifted his son's head. He could not believe his eyes. His father, gentle and calm as always… the first of many to have fallen by his betrayal. Instinctively he reached for him, his hand landing on his collar. He held on to it with effort, his once great strength fading more and more by the second.  
„Father…" he managed. „is it… over?"  
„No king rules forever my son." wise, as always. Yet if he fell, Arthas knew the Scourge would be victorious. Deep down, he fought, the side of him that remained to same boy who cried for his horse on that snowy day, long ago. That boy still fought for Azeroth, in his own way. He was not stronger then the Lich King but he still battled to keep the Scourge back as much as he could. In the end, he succeeded in denying it to completely run rampant over Azeroth but with the seperation of the link between Arthas and Ner'zhul and the loss of Frostmourne, Arthas knew he was dying. If Ner'zhul was left in control, the Scourge would be victorious. There would always need to be a Lich King to keep the Scourge in check.  
A noble soul, willing to make the ultimate sacrifice, the one he tried and failed to make. Give up his soul… His father nodded, also knowing what must be done. Arthas smiled and gave a slight, almost unnoticable nod. He did not see Terenas' reaction. His vision faded and his remaining strength was gone. The last think he felt was his hand dropping on that cold, so very cold floor. He knew what would now come.  
„I see… only darkness before me." he uttered… and died.


End file.
